


Of Fear and Overcoming It

by sunstarunicorn



Series: Magical Flashpoint Side Stories [21]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Another Side of Whatever It Takes, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 04:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17257928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Heights are not something Greg Parker enjoys; quite the reverse actually.  But with a young teenager the same age as his son and nephew on the line, Greg’s going to do whatever it takes to keep Carlton safe…no matter how close he has to get to the edge.  A peek at Greg’s side of his negotiation with Carlton in Whatever It Takes.  A Magical Flashpoint Side Story





	1. Rooftop Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Magical Flashpoint Side Story series. It follows "Blessings" and comes before "Bad Cop, Good Cop". Spoilers for 03x04: Whatever It Takes. I am using dialogue from the episode.
> 
> This story started out as part of the main storyline, but as I look back at it, I've relegated it to the Side Stories, because, to a great extent, the episode this story is based on does not change. When I wrote this story, I was looking more at how Team One has changed from their canon counterparts than at how to change the episode itself.
> 
> So, for those of my readers who prefer original content to episode twisters, I made the decision to not frustrate you with this particular story and moved right along to "Bad Cop, Good Cop". But for those readers who enjoy hunting down the sometimes subtle changes in my episode twisters, I hope you have a good time with this particular story.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

This whole mess was starting to smell; as the saying went, something was rotten in the state of Denmark or, as the case may be, the Eastern Tech basketball team.  Greg wasn’t sure _what_ was going on, but they had a missing victim who’d been attacked by his own team…the similarities to Sam’s kidnapping, assault, and attempted murder by his former team had Parker and the rest of Team One on edge, though they were still as professional as ever.  Greg led the school principal outside to speak with his team leader and keep the ball rolling on their cooperative efforts.

“Eddie,” Parker called, attracting his team leader’s attention.

Ed dismissed the constable next to him with a brief, “Thank you,” and turned to the two new arrivals.

“Principal McKechnie, Officer Ed Lane,” Greg introduced.

“Hello,” the principal greeted the constable.  The woman was shorter than Greg, with brown hair tucked in a bun.  She was even stockier than Greg, with a full face, dark blue eyes, gold button earrings and makeup that sought, like most older women, to hide the inevitable signs of aging.  She was brisk, business like, and professional, though Greg had a few…reservations.

Though she was the school principal, she’d gone out of her way to claim that basketball wasn’t her sphere, as if preemptively disavowing any knowledge of wrongdoing in that area.  Outside of her school, she wore a long heavy coat in deference to the weather, the coat’s appearance reminding Greg a little of his _nipotes_ ’ winter cloaks.  Every so often, the pair did manage to remind their Uncle and Team One that once a pureblood, always a pureblood.  Greg dismissed the errant thoughts to get back to business.

“Hi, ma’am,” Ed returned, polite, but serious.

Taking the opening to get Eddie up to date, Greg continued, “I was just telling her that we got a lot of people looking for Carlton and Cory, but,” he turned toward Principal McKechnie a bit, “we’re gonna need some help from your staff.”

Even as she nodded agreement, Ed was elaborating, “Right.  We need to single out their friends, their teammates.  That would be a big help.  We’re looking for background, gossip, anything that can help us find out where they ran to.”

“Right,” came the immediate agreement.

Parker picked the verbal baton back up.  “Especially Carlton, because we have to assume that his mental state is fragile.”

He knew Ed’s attention had been attracted by something, the physical proximity and his ‘team sense’ picking up on Eddie more acutely, but he stayed focused on the principal until Ed’s grim, “Boss, we got a problem.”

Greg turned, following Ed’s gaze and gesture upwards; behind him the principal gasped, “Oh, my Gawd.”

Ed pulled out a pair of binoculars, unnecessary since Greg’s ‘gryphon vision’ had already focused in and confirmed what they all suspected.  “That’s our guy,” Ed announced.

Greg swallowed as his vision helpfully let him pick out the details of Carlton, standing right at the edge, less than a step from going over the edge of a rooftop three stories up.  The boy, in a blue, red trimmed winter jacket, red and white canvas sneakers, and sporting a head of curly brown hair, looked like he was at the end of his tether.  The odds of surviving a fall from the height he was at were not good, but to talk him down…would mean going up.  On a roof.  Three stories up.

* * * * *

Wordy surveyed the young man through his own pair of binoculars, listening to his boss outline the situation in his typically to-the-point fashion.  “High school basketball star, abducted and assaulted by his own teammates.”

“Now he’s a jumper,” Sam observed from beside his boss, “Kid’s had a really bad night.”

Involuntarily, Wordy shuddered, remembering how, not so long ago, it had been _Sam_ who’d been a jumper.  The brunet wasn’t sure which was worse: jumping when you were technically mentally incapacitated or jumping when you knew _exactly_ what you were doing.  To avoid thinking about it more, the husky constable moved in front of Sarge and Sam, tilted his head to the side and observed, “Whatever’s going on between him and his buddy Cory put him up there.”

Sarge disagreed, though there was a note of apprehension in his voice.  “No, the beating was a catalyst.  It takes more than one incident to drive somebody to suicide.”

“You said his grades were falling, too.  Right?”  Sam again.  “That’s another flag.”

Wordy, already pulling out the climbing gear, cringed as his Sarge announced, “Okay, the beating was obviously premeditated.  This kind of abuse has happened in their locker room before.  So I’m gonna go up there, I’m gonna talk to him.”  With the Sarge’s fear of heights, he was gonna go up there?

Ed was clearly okay with the idea; he’d already moved onto more practical concerns.  As he focused in on as many details as he could, he addressed their tech, “Spike, subject’s on a flat roof, covering what looks like a terrace up there.”

“Copy that.  Roof access is to the north, above his position.  There’s a fixed ladder to descend to get to our guy,” Spike informed them.

As Spike briefed them, Wordy hauled two full bags of gear to his sergeant, giving Sarge his best encouraging look.  “Full climbing and safety gear,” he announced, putting as much confidence in his voice as possible.

A faint smile; Sarge seeing at once what the brunet was trying to do.  “Thanks, Wordy.”

Wordy moved back towards a good lookout position as Spike came over the comm again.  “Boss, Jules has got the night janitor at the main entrance to take you to the roof, and get this.  Sidney traced our anonymous 911 call to inside the school.  4:23 A.M.  That’s got to have been the janitor.”

“Okay, let’s go see the night janitor,” Sarge remarked grimly.  “Coming through.”

As both Sarge and Sam headed for the entrance, Wordy looked down from his binoculars to watch them go, shoving any unease in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind that he could find.  With Sarge’s ‘team sense’, Team One had another way to support their afraid-of-heights boss and Wordy intended to use it.

Ed stayed on business.  “Okay, school is canceled.  Let’s keep the perimeter tight.  Let’s keep the gawkers moving.  And let’s lock this building down, please.  Lou, coordinate with the uniforms on that.”

“Copy,” Lou agreed over the comm.

* * * * *

Sam jogged to keep up with his boss; Sarge sure could move when he wanted to, despite being a bit shorter and not quite as athletic as the sniper.  Even as they raced up the stairs, Boss had enough breath to question the janitor.  “What’s your name?”

“Doug,” the janitor replied shortly.  He was lean, taller than Sam, and wore his blue janitor’s uniform fairly well.  Curly brown hair was cut short and fell to the nap of his neck; already it receded a bit on his forehead, though he compensated with small sideburns.  He was clean shaven, with features just as lean as his frame, and blue eyes above a narrow nose and mouth.

“Doug what?” Sarge persisted.

“Doug Saunders.”

“Why didn’t you identify yourself when you called 911?” Boss demanded, going straight for the throat.

The janitor, still moving quickly, waffled.  “Uh, I saw a kid get beat up, I made the call.”

Sam followed up.  “You knew who they were.  You could have saved us valuable time.”

As they reached the first door, the janitor protested, “Look, this job’s about all I got, okay?”  He focused on the door, not looking at either officer.

“And why would your job be affected?” Sarge asked, pushing but not.

Finally the man looked up, trying to affect an air of nonchalance that both saw through in an instant.  “Well, maybe it wouldn’t, I don’t know, but you don’t interfere with basketball at this school.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, wanting to follow up on that interesting little tidbit, but his boss shifted gears back to the potential jumper.  “All right.  Take my friend down to the terrace underneath the kid.”

Sam forced himself to just follow the janitor and not look back as his boss hurried out onto the roof, towards the jumper.  Sarge was tough, he’d be all right.

* * * * *

Greg swallowed hard as Ed’s voice came through.  “Wordy and I are standing by.  Boss, I don’t see you.”

The Sergeant forced his voice to stay calm and steady as he descended the ladder, his knuckles white under his gloves.  He was very careful to _not_ look down.  “You will in a minute,” he reassured Eddie.  To his surprise, his ‘team sense’ was radiating his team’s rock-solid faith in him, that he could handle this negotiation, despite the location and conditions.  As Greg’s feet touched down on the roof surface, he clung to that faith and tried to imagine how he’d react if it was his nephew out there instead of a stranger.  “Carlton?!” he called, more to announce his arrival than to negotiate; that would come soon enough.  “Hey, just take it easy, okay?  I just don’t want to surprise you.”  Dropping his voice down, he murmured, “Hey, Spike.  Night watchman’s name is Doug Saunders.  See if that raises any flags.”

“You got it,” Spike chirped, his absolute faith in his sergeant coming through in both voice and emotion.

Greg kept his gaze away from the edge as he started forward, grateful for the heavy bags and his ‘team sense’ keeping him grounded.  Part of his mind was already gibbering in terror at being so close to the edge, the rest of him snarled at that part to ‘ _shut up_ ’; as always, it wasn’t that effective, so Greg opted for plan B, ignore the edge as much as humanly possible.  “Carlton?  Hey, Carlton?  Hey, buddy.  I’m Sergeant Parker.”

The young man had yet to even look up so Greg tried a joke, wincing as it fell flat, “You’re a hard man to get a meeting with.”  Greg set the bags and climbing gear down, forcing himself to step over it and towards the edge a little as he called, “Hey, you mind just taking a step back from the edge there?  All I want to do is talk to you.”

Finally, Greg got a reaction as Carlton looked over at him and yelled, “Don’t come any closer!”

“Okay,” Greg agreed at once, backing up to his gear.  “All right, I know you brought yourself up here for a reason, and we can talk about that, but first…”  His fear of heights reared its head again, pushing the Sergeant into a move he cringed at later.  “First, you know, we’re pretty precarious up here, and I just want to make sure you don’t slip accidentally, so I’m going to rig a harness for you, okay?”

He pulled a harness out of one of the bags and took a few steps closer to Carlton, holding it out for the young man to take.  “Hey, put this on.”  As Carlton stayed still, not even looking, Greg, forcing the fear out of his voice, questioned, “No?  You don’t want a harness?”

“Stay away from me,” was the only insight Carlton had on the subject.

Resigned to the fact that this wasn’t going to be a quick and easy solution, Greg shifted back to his gear, talking as he worked.  “Pretty good with heights, huh?  Me, I’d rather be anywhere else, so I’m gonna hook myself in, okay?  All right?”

Carlton didn’t respond, his focus had gone right back to the edge and the action he was working himself up to.

Greg had pulled his vision back, but his hearing was ‘up’, letting him hear the conversation on the terrace below.  Sam briskly ordered the janitor, “Stay where we can find you.”

Greg silently approved of the order as Sam’s bootsteps sounded, the younger man reaching his boss’s position in seconds.  “Okay, boss, I’m right underneath you,” Sam reported.

“Stealth, Sam,” Greg requested as he finished attaching his safety gear and tightened the straps.  “I want to form a bond.  I don’t want him distracted.  Stay in that position until I need you.”

As Sam’s bootsteps marked his movement, Eddie piped in from the ground, “Sam, the subject is ten feet south of you.  Three, two, one.  Mark.”  The bootsteps stopped.

Greg surveyed the young man and requested, “Okay, team, I need new ideas.  Our boy is noncommunicative.”

Jules called in first.  “Judson and Antony are holding the party line.  We got to crack this code of silence.  Hey, maybe if they learn that their star point guard is suicidal, that could help.”

Ed chipped in next.  “Let’s get Carlton’s mother down here.  I want her to paint a picture of every single stress that he is under.  I don’t care if he ran out of toothpaste, the boss needs to know it.”

“That’s affirmative,” Greg agreed.  The fear hadn’t gone away, not in the slightest.  But he had a job to do, he had a team watching his back and supporting him as best they could.  Against that, fear didn’t stand a chance.


	2. Whose Fault Is It?

Ed, contrary to appearance, was far more uneasy with his boss’s current position than he was letting himself show.  Still, to doubt his boss right now was counterproductive, so, like his best friend, he shoved every last doubt into a box and buried the ‘box’ under a litany of positive ‘you-can-do-this’ thoughts directed in Greg’s direction.

He was so focused on the roof that it took Wordy’s quiet, “Eddie,” to get his attention.

The basketball coach, one Coach Wellstead, was standing right next to them.  Wellstead was Ed’s height, though he still had hair, a thick brown thatch that might have receded some, but not much.  He was a typical athlete type, with a light layer of scruff on chin and lip and generous, but not bushy eyebrows.  Lines etched in his forehead spoke to long term stress, not unusual with his job coaching one of the best basketball teams in the city.  As before, he was eager to be of assistance.  “They kicked me out of my office.  Anything I can do to help?”

Ed nodded, his head bobbing only a tiny bit as he replied, “Yeah, we’d like to interview a few more of your players, but classes were canceled.  Do you think you can round them up?”

“Yeah, I can try to get some of the guys down here, but their numbers are in my office.”

Easy decision.  “All right, we need you to stay in your office once you’re there,” Ed ordered.

The coach accepted the terms at once.  As Lou appeared out of nowhere to escort the man, Wellstead added, “Okay, you need anything else, let me know.”

“Yeah,” Ed agreed, already shifting back to the rooftop and his boss.  _Come on, Greg; you can do this._

Far above the two tallest members of the team, Parker was making another attempt to get young Carlton to talk, to focus on something other than the edge and the very sharp drop beyond it.  “Hey Carlton, you know what these things are?  They’re anchors for, uh…” a brief cough, “…window washers.  I mean, those guys got to be nuts.”

“Don’t come any closer!” was the immediate response to Parker’s attempt to sneak closer.  Ed winced; the young man was a broken record.

“Okay,” Greg acquiesced at once.  But, never one to give up, he started back up again with, “Your mom and your sister-- they would really like you home.  And we sort of promised them, so, will you talk to me so maybe we can work this out and we can both get down?”

Ed saw his boss glance towards the edge, saw him stiffen through the binoculars.  “Come on, Greg,” he whispered.

“You can do it, Sarge.”  Wordy, equally soft.

“Only one way down, man,” Carlton retorted, but at least he’d finally responded, finally answered Greg.

“Whatever your teammates did-- it can be undone, son.  We can even help your friend Cory.  Do you know why he would even do this to you?”

For some reason, Carlton reacted badly to the question, yelling, “It’s not Cory’s fault!”

“Subject is moving, risking a slip,” Ed warned.

“Boss, you need me up there?” Sam asked, shifting in his own position.

“Negative,” Greg countered, “Hold your position.”

From the truck, Spike called, “Okay, surveillance tape-- I can identify them all the way through.  Cory reads clear reluctance.  He’s being pressured and pushed to beat on a friend.  But Judson and Antony are definitely running the show.”

* * * * *

“Eastern Tech has a strict no-hazing policy,” Judson drawled, leaning back a bit in his chair as he looked at Jules.  Brown eyes were cold, calm, steady.  The senior’s brown hair was in a typical crew-cut and he imitated his coach with a five o-clock shadow on chin and upper lip.

Though he and his teammate had been caught red-handed, they acted as though they would get off scot-free, an attitude that was thoroughly annoying Jules.  “Yeah, yeah, that’s what you both said, but I’m not buying it,” Jules retorted.  “So this is the first time you’ve singled somebody out?”  She let that hang a moment.  “Come on, guys.  You wear the hoods so that no one knows who’s doing the enforcement, right?  This is how it’s done.  It’s your tradition.”

As she spoke, she studied Antony.  He leaned forward in his seat and was clearly uncomfortable with her line of questioning.  Crew-cut black hair matched his teammate’s brown locks, but blue eyes flicked to and away from Jules as the young man squirmed.  He wasn’t as rock-solid as his older classmate was, not by a long shot.  If Jules had to pick who was going to crack, she’d pick Antony, but, as yet, he hadn’t cracked…not _yet_ anyway.  Jules hammered her point home as she continued, “Antony, you can’t keep this code of silence.  Silence is what put Carlton up on that roof.”

To her surprise, though she didn’t let it show, it was Judson who pleaded, “Can’t you just get him down?”

“Not until you tell us what put him up there in the first place,” Jules replied flatly.  She wasn’t as good as Sarge, but she knew an opening when she saw one.  “Judson, Carlton is your teammate.  You respect him.”

Just like that, she did it.  Judson licked his lips and finally talked.  “If Coach benches you, you’re done.  Scouts won’t see you, no scholarship, no college.”

Their _coach_ had put them up to this?

Antony, now that Judson had broken the ice, let his own words spill out.  “Carlton started strong, but Coach doesn’t like his style.  He wants more aggression.  You know, killer instinct.”

Killer instinct in a basketball player?

“He lost his confidence,” Judson picked up, “Man, the wheels came off.”

“The last game, he couldn’t do anything right,” Antony explained.  “And Coach leaves him in to make a point.  Weak links break the chain.”

Jules felt her fists clench at the tactic; if one of _them_ ran into trouble, Sarge didn’t hesitate to pull them out…if he could.  And if he couldn’t, he offered as much backup as humanly possible, reinforcing any ‘weak’ links.

“But Cory dug us out.  Nineteen points in the fourth quarter.”

Jules let a silent whistle out; Cory had backed up his teammate just as well as any Team One member would.  But somehow, she had a feeling the coach hadn’t responded like Sarge would have.

“It was so stupid,” Antony declared.  “We won.  But we still had to book Carlton.”

“ ‘Book’ him?” Jules questioned.

They almost faltered, but Judson licked his lips again and replied, “Coach has this telephone book in his office.  He brings it out when someone screws up in a game…like Carlton did.”

Antony picked up the narrative.  “Everyone has to take the book and hit Coach’s target with it… _everyone_.  But Cory wouldn’t do it.  He said Carlton had paid enough.”

“Coach told everyone to hit the showers,” Judson remembered.  “Then he called us, me, Antony, and Cory, to hold back.  That’s when he told us what we had to do.”  The young man, no longer cocky, sighed and continued, “Cory had a choice.  Basically, prove his loyalty by teaching Carlton a lesson, or ride the pine and kiss college ball good-bye.”

“That’s how it works around here,” Antony quietly confirmed.

“ ‘Whatever it takes.’  Coach’s motto,” Judson finished.

A seething Jules excused herself, leaving the uniforms to watch the pair.  Abuse of power, abuse of authority.  Wrecking lives and friendships.  Over a _game_ …not even over basketball, but over one single, rotten game Wellstead’s team had won _anyway_.  Wellstead had a lot to answer for.  And when this was over, she was giving Sarge a hug for never, _ever_ being like that.

* * * * *

“Okay, the attacks are definitely top-down,” Jules announced on the comm, her anger simmering just below the surface.  “It’s systemic and not quietly sanctioned.  Coach Wellstead ordered the attack.”

Ed felt his best friend’s eyes on him as Wordy growled, “Go get him.”

“I got the coach,” Ed agreed, “Wordy’s on the ground.”

Ed moved through the high school’s hallways, covering the distance in record time.  But still not fast enough.  He arrived to an empty office, with signs of a struggle and blood on the desk.

“Boss, we got a situation.”


	3. Kids for Victories

“Coach Wellstead’s not in his office,” Ed reported grimly.  “I got blood on the desk, blood on the floor.  There’s signs of a struggle.  We may have unauthorized persons in here.  We need to sweep the building.  Wordy’s spotting.  Sam?”

“I might have to go up and flank the boss, Ed,” came the quick response.

“That’s affirmative,” Greg agreed.  To Ed’s relief, his boss sounded calm and in control.  “I need Sam with me.”

“Jules,” Ed called.

“I’m about to sit down with Mrs. Hayward,” Jules replied.

Sam piped up, “We could use her intel up here.”

“Lou,” Ed tried.

“On my way,” Lou agreed.  “Or I can start sweeping from where I am.”

“Start sweeping,” Ed decided.  “I’ll get some uniforms in here to secure the scene and join you in two minutes.  Spike, keep your eyes open.”

“Copy,” Spike acknowledged from his spot in the truck.  “Tapping into school cameras to see if I can spot our subjects.”

* * * * *

Greg stayed focused on his task, leaving the errant coach to his team.  “Carlton, I’m not gonna pretend to understand the pain you’re in, but I now understand that Cory did not want to hurt you, that he was forced to.”

“I started it,” Carlton stated, so matter-of-fact that Greg was forced to hide his wince.

“No, you didn’t start it,” Greg retorted, “Coach Wellstead started it.”

“I’m the one who folded-- I stepped to the line, I can’t even hit a free throw anymore.”  Self-disgust rang in Carlton’s voice.

“Hey, Carlton, it’s windy up here-- just take a step back, just please take a step back.”  Greg was _not_ losing this kid; not a young man that reminded him of his nephew.

* * * * *

“Nothing.  No sign,” Ed’s frustration rang in his voice.  “How’s it read to you, Lou?”

Lou moved briskly through the halls, down a small set of stairs and started peeking into closed classrooms.  His head was on a swivel, scanning for any signs of life or movement.  “I don’t know, the building’s locked down,” he replied.  “Someone get in to assault the coach, or did he assault someone else?”

“All right, let’s keep looking,” Ed decided.

As Lou walked down the hallway, his attention was caught by a trophy case.  “I got something,” he called.

“What do you got, Lou?” Ed questioned.

“I’m at a trophy case, all basketball, and I’m looking at a photo of Doug Saunders,” Lou reported.

“The janitor,” was Ed’s remark.

“Eastern Tech Warriors, 1993.  Spike, any flags in the database?”

“No red flags in the database,” Spike announced.

“Okay, but this is a familiar uniform,” Lou mused.  Snapping a picture, he added, “Uploading a picture to your phones.”

“Got it,” Spike sang out.  “I’ll start pulling more info, pronto.”

* * * * *

With the principal at his side, Ed cornered the janitor, his eyes hard and unyielding.

“I didn’t do anything to Wellstead,” Saunders protested.

“Then where is he?” Ed demanded.  “We know that you played for him, that you didn’t make senior squad, and we know that you dropped out, right?”

For a change, the suspect didn’t deny Ed’s statements.  “Yeah, that’s right.”

“You held a grudge,” Ed concluded.

The other man shrugged a little.  “I guess so; something like one.”

“Did you go see him in his office today?”

“No.”

“But you knew what Carlton was going through?”

“No.”

“Yeah, you did,” Ed countered.  “You knew that Cory was being forced to beat him.”

“No.  No,” Saunders protested again.  But after a beat, he admitted, “I did, but I didn’t-- just like everyone else around here.”

Ed reared back, confused.  “What do you mean by that?”

“Whatever it takes to win.  Eastern Tech Warriors.  Hoo-ah,” the janitor replied, his voice flat, the faintest edge of anger breaking through.  With a sigh, he revealed, “Every year he-he bonds the team by turning on the weak or the guys that are too strong, guys like Carlton.”  Angry now, Saunders spat at Principal McKechnie, “And you people turn a blind eye because he gets results.”  Without missing a beat, Saunders turned back to Ed.  “For years, this place has been sacrificing kids for victories.  Two decades.”

Now it was the principal Ed was turning on; the woman protested, “That’s not true.  Basketball is out of my sphere.”

Incredulous, Ed snapped, “Ma’am if you are in charge, this is your sphere.”  Dismissing the woman, he turned back to Saunders.  “Look, Doug, we’re here because someone else is going through what you’ve been through, and right now he is suicidal.”

The anger was gone as Doug Saunders meekly nodded.  “I know.”

“So tell us what you know so that we can help.  You can stop this.”

“I only wish I had the guts to do it myself,” Saunders replied.  “I let Cory in the building, and I gave him the key to the boiler room.”

“Okay,” Ed acknowledged.  “Lou, we have a location.”  To Saunders, the team leader added, “Come with me.  You can help.  Come on.”

As Ed jogged towards the boiler room, Saunders hurried along behind him.  Finally, they were getting somewhere.

* * * * *

Jules sat next to Carlton’s mother and little sister.  The tear-stricken mother explained, “A recruiter told me to get Carlton into Coach Wellstead’s program.  The man’s a legend.  City championships, regional titles, national titles.  He landed kids NCAA scholarships.  Some of them even made it to the NBA.  I pulled every string I could.”  With a burst of fresh sobs, she concluded, “I pushed my son into his arms.”

Jules shook her head.  “We all want our loved ones to succeed,” she pointed out softly.

The little girl sitting in her mother’s arms looked up.  In a move that reminded Jules, poignantly, of Alanna, the girl said, “It’s okay, Mommy.”

Carlton’s mother cried, resting her chin on her daughter’s head.  But after a second, she lifted her head, eyes clear even as they filled with more tears.  “Please bring my son down safe.”

* * * * *

Lou knelt, examining the black vents outside of the boiler room as Saunders gave the pair a rundown of the boiler room’s construction.  Gloved hands explored the vents, searching for openings and any way to exploit the one gap in the room’s defenses.  “It’s structural behind the drywall, two feet of poured concrete.  The door is steel skin, solid core and barred from the inside.”

“No windows at all?” Ed questioned as Lou leaned back on his heels and looked up at Saunders and his teammate.  Saunders shook his head.

“It’s like a bomb shelter,” Lou remarked.

“Can we get eyes in?” Ed asked him.

“Maybe through the vent,” Lou offered.

“Let’s do it.”

“Copy,” Lou agreed, pushing himself to his feet and heading for the trucks.  “Spike, get the snake cam out for me, please.  And maybe we should switch places…if the door has to get taken down, I can bring the charge.”

“Got it,” Spike confirmed.  “I’ll get it out and be ready to go when you get here, buddy.”

Behind the less-lethal specialist, he heard Ed ask, “Is there a phone in there?”

“Yeah,” the janitor replied.

Lou grinned, just a little.  They had a plan…now they just had to keep moving forward.  One thing was for sure, though, the coach’s days of sacrificing kids for basketball games were over.


	4. I Broke Him

“I brought it on myself.  It’s my mess.”

Greg shook his head behind the young man’s back, no, no, it wasn’t Carlton’s fault, it _wasn’t_ his mess.

Sam echoed his boss’s thoughts from below.  “Carlton’s shouldering guilt for what Wellstead initiated.  The whole team’s an abuse victim.  They’re blaming themselves.”

“Yeah, you’re on to something Sam.  Stand by for my signal.  I’ve got an idea, and I’m gonna need you up here.”

Below him, Sam’s bootsteps sounded again, the blond sniper hurrying to get into a new position to help his boss and the subject.

* * * * *

In the school boiler room, a man was tied to a chair.  Blood ran down his forehead and into his shirt.  He moaned and rolled his head to the side as a phone’s shrill tone broke the silence.  On the opposite wall, the phone rang, filling the small space with sound until a young man picked up.  As he picked up the phone, he turned towards his captive, brown eyes angry.  His black hair was cut very close in a buzzcut and he was a bit taller than his best friend, Carlton.  Tan-skinned like Lou, he counted Carlton as his best friend and he was furious at what his own actions had caused, but even more furious with the man who’d instigated those actions.

“Cory, my name’s Ed Lane-- I’m with the SRU.  Do you mind if I come in and speak with you for a second?”

“Not gonna happen,” Cory hissed; he knew, _knew_ , the cops would side with Wellstead, that they’d let him go.

The cop didn’t give up though.  “All right, Cory, listen to me.  We know what you and Carlton have been through.  The only way to deal with Coach Wellstead is to let us handle it.  Hand him over to us.”

“There’s other ways!” Cory snapped.

“Yeah,” the cop acknowledged, “But, Cory, you want to do this the right way here, son.  Just tell me how he’s doing.”

Mocking, Cory raised his voice, “You all right, Coach?”

A groan from the bloody, bound man was his only reply.

“Yeah,” Cory taunted, “He says he knows he’s got to pay to play.”

* * * * *

“You don’t know what it’s like, especially for the third-string guys.  It’s worse for them.”

_Gotcha._   “You see?” Greg demanded, “You see how much you care for your team?  That’s why you’re a point guard, that’s why you’re a leader.”

Self-disgust rose again.  “I participated,” Carlton retorted.  “I had to beat guys down, too.”

* * * * *

“Carlton wasn’t hard enough for him!  Even though he’s got more talent than any of us, we still had to break him!”

“No, he tried…” the cop protested.

“I broke him!” Cory burst out.  “Me!  I took the bait, man.  Court time over my friend.”

“Cory, he had to use you-- you were both too strong.  Carlton was too strong.”

* * * * *

Greg almost smiled.  Two teams, one good, one bad.  Time to play his ace.  “A team run on fear is not a team,” he announced, letting his conviction ring in every word.  “My teammate Sam, down below us.  Hey, Sam, come up here.  I trust my life in his hands.”

He heard Sam scrambling up, the sniper handling the height better than his Sergeant ever could.  Sam appeared in seconds, pulling himself up onto the roof and keeping his hands in view at all times.  “Hey, Carlton,” he greeted.  “I’m just gonna hang out here, okay?”

The young man looked from Sam to his boss, confusion running across his face before he looked back out over the edge.  “What, you think I’m doing this all by myself?” Greg asked.  “Sam’s got my back.  In fact, if you step back a little bit and look down there, you see that-- that guy with the binoculars.”  Carlton did shift, did step back; Greg did smile now.  “You see him?  That’s Wordy.”

Greg’s smile widened with pride as Wordy spotted Carlton watching him and lowered his binoculars to give Carlton a salute.

“I’m looking after you, Sam’s looking after me, and Wordy’s got all our backs.”

* * * * *

“Just let him go here, Cory.  Let us deal with it.”

“I’ve got to finish this,” Cory countered.

In front of him, Wellstead groaned again and shifted, finally beginning to wake up and look up at his captor.

“Whatever it takes,” Cory finished, before hanging up.

On the other end, Ed called, one last time, “Cory,” before he realized Cory had hung up.

* * * * *

“We all make mistakes.  We all have bad games,” Greg reassured the young man.  In the background, Sam and Wordy backed him, physically and mentally, pushing the fear away.

“Basketball is everything and now it’s gone,” Carlton admitted.

“It’s not gone, it’s not gone, it’s only the beginning.”  If Greg had had time, he might have told the young man about when he’d gotten his ‘everything’ back.  “You’re going to get that scholarship, but you’re on two separate teams right now, Carlton, and the poisoned basketball team you got to walk away from.  Your mother, your sister, and Cory, too-- that’s your other team, that’s long-term.  Nobody’s going to cut you from that squad.”

* * * * *

Grim, furious, Cory stood at a small table, shaping a piece of wire with a blowtorch right next to him.  Time to make Coach pay, like Carlton had.

Behind him, the man himself woke up, shifting and trying to get loose.  “What are you doing?” he demanded.  Cory didn’t even look at him.  “Cory, what are you doing?”  Fear entered the man’s voice.  “What, are you crazy?  Wha…hey, what are you doing?”

* * * * *

“Where are we, Spike?” Ed asked, standing over his teammate’s shoulder.

Without looking up, Spike replied, “I’m close.”  A few seconds and then, “Eyes in.  We’re up.”

Spike shifted the screen so Ed could see too.  “What is that, a blowtorch?” Ed muttered to himself.

“Wellstead’s tied up.  This is bad.”

Over their shoulders, the janitor said, soft and horrified, “I think I know what he’s doing.”  As the two cops looked up, he pulled his shirt open to reveal a brand on his chest, over his heart.  A ‘W’ stood out, as livid as the day it had been applied.  “Eastern Tech Warriors.  We all got ‘em-- Coach’s loyalty test.”

“Shape charge, ASAP,” Ed ordered, “Blow the door, we’re going in.”

* * * * *

He couldn’t stop now, not now that he could sense he was so close.  “Look, I know there’s a lot of pressure, right?  There’s a lot of pressure.  The pressure’s got to be inescapable right now.  You’re supposed to carry your team and you’re supposed to carry your family’s dreams, too.”

His order, unspoken, still rang loud and clear to Sam.  “Jules, you copy?” Sam whispered, but not low enough to avoid his boss’s enhanced sense of hearing.

“Copy, Sam,” Jules acknowledged.

“I got your mother right here,” Greg told the young man, “She’s right here in the building right now.”

“No.  Oh, no.”  Like any other abuse victim, Carlton was ashamed, afraid to face his loved ones.

“Of course she is,” Greg countered gently.  “And she is nothing but proud of you.”

“Tell them that we’re working it through nice and slow,” Sam instructed Jules, “We need their help, okay?”

* * * * *

“Okay, I’ll get her on the line,” Jules told her teammate.  Turning to the woman in front of her, Jules explained, “You can’t talk to Carlton directly, but you can relay a message through my sergeant.  Speak from the heart.  He needs perspective.  He is very overwhelmed right now.”  So saying, Jules gave the equally overwhelmed mother the phone.

“Hello?”

Soft, Jules urged, “Say something personal, something you both share.”

For a moment more, the woman floundered.  Then her eyes lit, just a little.  “Tell him…tell him I’m sorry I pushed him to the paint.  He should have gone for three.”  She waited for Parker to relay that, then said, “There’s other teams, other things in life.”

* * * * *

“And you are so much more than who you are on that court,” Greg called, watching as his charge started to cry, letting the tension out, letting the poison out.  “And that she wants you to be happy.”

From the other end, a small voice piped up.  “I hid like you told me to.”

Greg had to hold back a chuckle at that.  “Your sister-- she says that she hid like you told her to and that she sent us after the bad guys, but, uh…maybe one day you can explain to her that they weren’t the real bad guys.”

A sob came over the line.  “Tell him I love him and I want him to come _home_.”

“Do you see that the only way you could disappoint anyone is by taking your own life?  Nobody hurts so bad they can’t recover.”  Greg extended his right hand.  “And all you got to do…is take my hand.”  As the young man looked at him, Greg added, quietly, as if he were speaking to his nephew, “Trust me.”

For several moments, Carlton considered the older man’s words, regarded the outstretched hand.  Then, at long last, he turned and extended his own hand, grasping Parker’s hand.  Greg yanked him over the divider between them, pulling him close and into a rough hug.

Triumphant, Wordy’s voice announced, “He’s got him.  Carlton’s secure.”

Over both the comm and the still open phone line, Greg heard Jules say, “He’s got him,” to Carlton’s sister and mother.

Carlton’s mother burst out crying, the relief in her sobs painfully obvious.

“He’s okay,” Jules soothed.


	5. The Real Loser

Ed kept his eyes on the screen, watching as Cory kept going along a path that he would regret for the rest of his life.  Lou and Spike worked as quickly as they could, setting up the shape charge on the door.  The helpful janitor had been shooed away; this was an SRU matter now.  Ed’s eyes narrowed as Cory and Wellstead ended up struggling, quite conveniently, away from the door.  “Subjects are in the southwest corner, out of line with the door,” Ed announced.

“That’s good,” Spike replied, “ ‘Cause it’s gonna be a big bang, and it’s blowing inward.”  The three officers crouched away from the door, shielding their hearing as Spike hefted the detonator.  “Breaching in three, two, one.”

The door blew inward with a muffled roar, followed by three SRU officers who drew their sidearms as they entered the tiny room, only to be confronted with Cory, who’d gotten his coach in a headlock with his left arm and held a lighted blowtorch in his right.

“Cory, right there, drop it!” Spike yelled.

“Drop it!” Lou snapped, picking up as Spike finished.

“Put it down!  Right there!” Ed ordered.

Despite his position, Wellstead tried to take over.  “Do what he says, Cory.”

“Sir, let me do the talking,” Ed growled.  “Cory, listen to me.  I have to consider that blowtorch a deadly weapon.  That means if you show imminent threat to use it, I have to shoot here, son.”

In a splendid show of trying to keep everyone alive, Wellstead protested, “Isn’t this imminent?”

“Sir, please be quiet and do not struggle!” Spike called loudly.

“Cory, I don’t want to shoot you here,” Ed told the young man, “All right?  I don’t.  So lower the weapon.  You don’t have to put it down, but just move it away from his face and we can talk, okay?”

It took a second, but Cory slowly lowered the blowtorch, though, naturally, he didn’t let go of the weapon.

“That’s it,” Ed coaxed.

With a red face, sweat pouring down, and tears mixing with the sweat, Cory cried, “This here…this is all it boils down to for me.”

“No, it isn’t, Cory.  No, it isn’t,” Ed countered, his eyes intense.

“I saw red!  I went off on my friend!” Cory yelled.

“You know what Carlton told me?” Ed questioned.  Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “ ‘Not Cory’s fault.’  Those were his exact words, son.  But you know what?  There is fault here.  And I promise you we are gonna make sure that it comes out.  And that’s what you want, Cory.  Justice.  That’s what you want.”

In another brilliant show of cooperative spirit, Wellstead sneered.  “Justice?  I don’t have to face justice.”

“Sir, please be quiet,” Lou ordered.

“No, I’m not gonna be quiet,” Wellstead snarled.  “My record speaks for itself, all right?”

“Sir!” Ed yelled, trying to keep the situation from going off the rails…too late.

The blowtorch came up again as Cory demanded, “You don’t care if Carlton lives or dies?”

“Cory, don’t, don’t!” Ed warned, bringing his sidearm up and on target.  No, he didn’t want to do this, but he couldn’t let Cory hurt the louse.

“Shoot him!” came the shrill, selfish demand.

“Sir, you pull yourself together,” Ed countered, his voice frigid.  “Cory, this is not what I want to do.”

“Please…please,” the pathetic man sniveled.

* * * * *

Greg and Sam hovered around the teenager as they coaxed him down the steps, one by one.  The boy was shaking and panting as the aftermath of his experience kicked in.  Greg, for one, was thanking his lucky stars that he was _inside_ and not on the blasted roof anymore.  He was shaking too, if for largely different reasons.  Digging deep, Greg kept his voice even, “It’s all right.  Hey, hey.  You’re doing fine, Carlton.  Have a seat.”

“I’m shaking,” Carlton replied.

“That’s because your heart’s racing.  Just sit down.  Sit down.”  Bit by bit, he and Sam got the teen down on the step.

“So is mine, pal,” Sam told the teenager.  “We’re all good, okay?  You showed a lot of strength.”

“You just keep breathing.  You have some water.  We’re in no hurry,” Parker soothed, taking a bottle of water from his bag and giving it to Carlton.

“Boss,” Sam hissed, jerking his head to the side.

Leaning over, Greg told Carlton, “We’ll be right back, son.  You hold tight.”  Then Greg followed his sniper to the side, the two of them turning so Carlton couldn’t see them talking.

“I know, way outside the box, but what if we tell him what Cory’s doing?” Sam whispered.

Greg’s first response was, “Ah, that’s too risky.”

Sam persisted.  “I know, but we have two critical incidents.  Maybe one can help the other.  Carlton’s a team player.  His teammate needs him.”

“It could work, boss,” Wordy put in over the comm, “Get him proactive, helping his friend.”

“I think that’s a good idea down here,” Spike offered.

Two voices overlapped, Ed and Lou.  “Agreed.”

Greg considered, his ‘team sense’ alive with his team ready to back their boss, no matter what.  “Okay, he’s gone through a lot today, but he may be the only one who can reach his friend.  All right.  Let’s do it.”

The two officers headed back to the young man, Greg settling in next to Carlton and Sam hovering, but silent.

“Carlton,” Greg started, drawing the young teen’s attention at once, “I need to tell you something, and I need you to be strong.  It’s about Cory.”

“Where is he?  Is he okay?” Carlton asked anxiously, lowering his water bottle.

“He’s fine,” Greg soothed at once.  “He’s just in the middle of doing something that he’s going to regret.”  So saying Greg offered the young man his phone, already tapped into the feed from the still set up camera in the vent of the boiler room.  As Carlton stared at the stand-off, Greg continued, “The police, the school-- everybody knows the truth.  But Cory thinks he’s doing that for you.  That’s revenge for ripping apart your friendship and pushing you out on that roof.”

“Well, you have to stop him,” Carlton cried.

“Will you help us do that?”  Greg watched as Carlton’s shoulders straightened, the young man managing, in that moment, to remind him of Spike, saving Sam regardless of the risks and the danger.

* * * * *

“Cory, Carlton’s okay.  He came down, he’s fine.  I promise you that.”  Ed knew, from the look on Cory’s face, that Cory didn’t believe him, but he had to keep trying.  He had no desire to shoot the young man in defense of that utter _louse_ of a basketball coach.

“You’re just saying that!” Cory yelled.

Shaking his head, Ed replied, “No, I’m not, Cory.  He’s okay.  He’s here.  He’s gonna come in and talk to you.”

“Coming in, Eddie,” Sarge called.  Ed couldn’t look away from Cory, but, as Parker entered and came to a stop by Ed, he saw Carlton, with his hand on Greg’s shoulder and clad in a bullet-proof vest.

“It’s okay,” Ed told Cory, shifting to make room for his boss and Carlton.

When the pair had stopped and Carlton looked up, Cory recognized his friend.  Stammering, he pleaded, “C-Carlton.  I-I’m sorry.  I-I didn’t want you…”

“I know, I know,” Carlton told his friend, shaking his head a little.

“Coach…” Cory kept pleading.

“I know,” Carlton overrode his friend, finally getting him to stop and listen.  “Don’t worry about it.  Cory, put the blowtorch down.  Do it for me.”

Shifting, embarrassed, Cory observed, “So much for the season.”

“No,” Carlton countered, shaking his head again.  “Man…plenty more games.”

Ed stepped in.  “Cory, you don’t want to be like him.  You don’t want to do what he does, so just let him go.”

“The coach is the loser here,” Carlton told his best friend.  “Seriously.  He’s done.  We’re not.”

Cory considered his friend and his friend’s words.  Then, slowly, the blowtorch lowered and Cory let Wellstead go.

* * * * *

Greg guided Carlton out of the school and watched as the young man hurried to his mother and sister.  He smiled at the reunion, then watched as Spike pulled Cory past and to a patrol car.  Wellstead was taken to the ambulance; he would be treated, then arrested.  Greg didn’t look up as Eddie joined him, the team leader settling in next to his boss.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, not looking at his boss.

“I will be,” Greg replied, glancing over at his friend.

Ed nodded slowly.  Then, out of the blue, he questioned, “Why are you so much worse with heights now?”

Greg cringed, his only surprise that it had taken so long for any of his team to ask him.  After all, the worsened fear of heights predated even his ‘team sense’.  But…  “Not today, Ed,” he stalled.

It took a minute for Ed to respond.  “Okay, Greg.”  The two men looked at each other.  “You got through today no problem, so I can wait.  But we both know, heights are gonna come up again.”

“Yes, we do,” Greg acknowledged.  “I don’t think talking about it is going to help, though, Ed.”

Ed’s eyebrow arched at the statement, but his boss did not elaborate.

“I think I’m just going to have to live with this,” Greg admitted quietly.  “But I’ll tell you one thing, Ed; it was worth it and I’d do it again if I had to.”

The team leader looked back at the aftermath of the day’s call.  He had an inkling of when his boss’s fear of heights had gotten so much worse, but he wouldn’t ask.  Not today anyway.  Even _if_ heights came up again, the team and their Sergeant could handle it…together.

 

_~ Fin_


End file.
